He Belongs To Yesterday
by Meatball
Summary: The PREQUEL to Birdie And The Rat, this is about Simon and Lucie's first adventure together. Features Albus, Aberforth, Severus, and a certain dark wizard whom we have not yet heard much about...
1. Chapter 1

Title: He Belongs To Yesterday

Author: Meatball

Rating: PG

Summary: Set about fifteen years before The Birdie And The Rat, this prequel is about Lucie DeGrace and Simon Nigel-Nickerson's first case together. Features appearances by Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and a certain dark wizard whom we haven't heard much about yet.

Author's Note: This is totally a work of fiction (duh!). Original characters belong to me. Everything else belongs to JKR, and I do appreciate her letting us borrow her creations and taking all kinds of liberties with them! They are ever so fun to play with.

Author's Note II: Severus Snape is innocent until proven guilty!

One

Dragonwoode Manor

Hogsmeade Woods

Late August, 1890

"Damn it," whispered the slim man, his hazel eyes shining in the soft glow of the many candles that illuminated the old, dark-panelled room. On the table in front of him, an ancient text, faded and nearly indecipherable, rested. The man frowned and leaned closer, peering impatiently through the curtain of dark hair that had fallen across his brow.

"A problem, Master Lazerus?"

The man glanced up sharply, his steady gaze on his assistant. His even, handsome features were set in grim lines, and his soft, lightly-accented voice did not conceal his irritation. "You could say that, Fingal." Lazerus leaned back in his ornate, leather-padded old chair, and folded his arms, his expression brooding. "Those damned Egyptians and their damned heiroglyphics! Why couldn't they simply have written in good old plain English? I can barely make out some of these alchemic formulae, even with the help of magic."

Fingal the Fleet nodded, his clever Goblin features arranged in an almost-convincing expression of sympathy. "Perhaps, Master, I could decipher them for you --"

Lazerus smiled. It was a gentle enough smile, but there was more than a hint of irony in it. "I'm sure you could, Fingal. But -- forgive me, my old associate -- surely you know that when it comes to potential riches, I trust you not an inch more than as far as I can throw you. And that is not very far." His smile widened into a genuine smile. "Ah, but I see by your striking countenance that you are displeased. Here, Fingal." He held out his hand. "Come here. Take these," Lazerus handed the diminutive Goblin a stack of sealed files. The Goblin tottered slightly under the weight of them. "And begin sorting through them. The alchemic recipes marked with blue are to be filed in the top cabinet. The ones marked in green may be discarded into the fire -- they are useless, or redundant. The ones marked in red -- ah, my old comrade -- these are to be filed in the secret cabinets. You know the ones. And the yellow ones are as yet untested. They may be returned to my work table."

"Yes, Master Lazerus," Fingal wheezed. "Anything else, Master? More wine, perhaps?"

"Thank you, Fingal." He smiled at the Goblin again, kindly this time. "Yes. And when you have completed your work, you may rest. You've had a long day."

"Thank you, Master. You are kind."

Lazerus laughed, and said affectionately, "And you're a liar. Off with you now, Fingal. And goodnight."

"Goodnight, Master."

Fingal left the study, obscured behind the large stack of files that he carried. Within moments, a slightly-dusty bottle of wine -- Lazerus' favourite vintage elf-made -- and an elaborately-engraved silver goblet appeared on Lazerus' desk, along with a plate of meat and cheese. "Ah, bless you, Fingal," Lazerus said softly, choosing a morsel. A quick tap of his wand and a singsong incantation proved both the food and drink to be free of poison -- not that he had honestly expected there to be any. But it never hurt to be certain -- he would much prefer to be safe than sorry, or dead.

It had been hours since he had eaten, but as usual, he had been so engrossed in his research that he had forgotten the more mundane matters of food and drink. And Fingal, for all his ingrained treacherousness, looked after his master well. For his master was most kind to him, and generous with the fruits of his labours -- he could be counted on to reward his Goblin servant most profusely. They had worked together for many years now, and they made a good team, Lazerus and Fingal. Despite their myriad of differences, Lazerus was immensely fond of the still-youthful Goblin, and was pleased to call him 'friend', after a fashion.

Lazerus finished the plate of food -- he had been quite hungry, after all -- and took a deep drink of wine. With a satisfied sigh, he yawned and stretched, his somewhat-shaggy dark hair flopping over the hem of his loosely-flowing white blouse. Shrugging his hair back -- it wanted cutting, as usual -- he then prepared to resume the tedious, but fascinating, work of deciphering the alchemic secrets of the Egyptian ancients. What wizards they had been! The power. The secrets. The accomplishments! He was entranced by his work this evening, as he rarely had been any other time, of late.

By the age of forty-seven, Lazerus had become nationally-acclaimed as one of the foremost authorities on potions and alchemy throughout Europe. But he had become almost bored, as of late, with his studies and investigations. It seemed that there had been nothing new, and nothing exciting, to come his way for a very long time.

But here, in his very hands, he held an entirely new (to him) branch of alchemy. A branch of alchemy that he suspected would not be considered acceptable by the academic circles in which he moved.

He had discovered it, and other ancient tomes, on a recent speaking engagement in Egypt. Perhaps, he admitted to himself, he should not have...borrowed...these texts, but he was certain that they would never be missed, having been stored deep in one of the tombs that he had explored. The signs of magical concealment would have kept the precious tomes safe from prying muggle eyes, and as for other wizards? Well, he thought, with a swell of pride, he was considered by many to be one of the most powerful wizards of this age, and he sincerely doubted that many other magic-users could have spotted the cleverly-disguised books. He had barely done so, himself.

Perhaps his old friend Albus Dumbledore...perhaps. Perhaps not. Dumbledore was a good wizard -- nay, a very, very good wizard, and someday his talent and accomplishments might come close to equalling Lazerus' -- but, he felt sure, that day was a long way off. Besides, Albus needed to focus, as he, Lazerus, had told him many times already. It was all very well and good to have steady employment as Transfiguration Professor at Hogwart's, but really, how far could one go, in a teaching career? The sooner Albus quit that position and began to work on furthering his abilities, the better off he would be. Several times, Lazerus had offered Albus the chance to become his assistant, and several times, Albus had demurred.

_His loss, _thought Lazerus, not for the first time. His right, and his choice. Yet, he couldn't help but feel that Albus was wasting a great potential.

With a tingle of excitement, Lazerus leaned forward and once again attempted to make sense of the battered, ancient work, whose title loosely translated to "Most Secret And Strange Hexes and Charms." If he was deciphering these heiroglyphics correctly, then there were some astounding discoveries in the ancient text, be they light or dark.

He continued to read, late into the night, as the candles burned low around him.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

"Master Lazerus?"

He jumped, snorting in surprise, even as his bleary eyes attempted to focus on the Goblin. His head felt heavy, as he raised it from his folded arms. "Hnnh?", he muttered stupidly, wiping away sleep from his eyes.

"You have been working for days, Master." Fingal wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You must rest, and eat -- and bathe. You have been wearing these same clothes for three days." He plucked at the dusty shirtsleeve with a pinched expression on his face. "Filthy, filthy. I have prepared a hot meal, and this time you will eat it. And what is this?"

Curious, the Goblin leaned to peer around his master at the strange objects arranged on the floor. He gasped, frightened, as Lazerus stood up abruptly and grabbed Fingal by the back of his elegantly-embroidered tunic, and lifted him up off the floor.

"It is none of your damned business, little fiend!" Lazerus shouted. Dark stubble lined his face, and his eyes, though pouched with weariness, were furious. "Go! Get out! And cease your interference, you nosy pest! Go!" With surprising strength, he tossed the Goblin across the room, and pointed his wand at him. Fingal stared at Lazerus with wide, horrified eyes.

"Master? Master? What is wrong?"

"GET OUT!" Lazerus roared. Angry red sparks shot out the end of his wand, and Fingal, alarmed, scampered out the door of the workroom. Lazerus could hear his little feet, in their patent-leather shoes, pattering up the stairs.

Lazerus stood there a moment longer, breathing hard. Then he sat down again, a wave of shame washing over him. "Oh, I am such a fool," he muttered softly. What had come over him? He hated himself for bullying the little Goblin. _I'll speak to him later,_ he thought. _That was too hard, he did not deserve such cold treatment. _Lazerus sighed, exhausted. Then his gaze slid to the assorted objects on the floor.

It had been -- when? Yesterday? The day before? Fingal was right, he was losing track of time -- when he had finally attempted one of the spells from the Egyptian books. The "portal" spell, if he had deciphered it properly. And what hellish results had come forth!

The first time, a ring of pale blue flame had quickly appeared -- just long enough for a strange creature to emerge. He had never seen such a creature, and, alarmed, had aimed a killing curse at it. Once the animal was dead, Lazerus examined the creature more closely. It was approximately the same height as himself, and bird-like, but with scaly skin, vicious teeth, and cruel claws. It reminded him of fossilized skeletons that he had seen in various cabinets of curiosities, during his travels.

Whatever it was, Lazerus felt certain of one thing: it had not come from this period in time. As far as he knew, such creatures did not exist in this time, either in the magical world, or not. He had never heard tell of a living example of such during his studies and travels.

The next time he had attempted the spell, more gruesome artefacts had fallen from the ring of flame: a human arm, which appeared to have been recently severed from the rest of its body. Through the coating of blood, he had examined the leather gauntlet still attached to it. A short, broad sword was still grasped in the twitching hand. He was no expert, but unless he was mistaken, he was looking at the standard sword of a Roman soldier. He could only assume that the bloodied, severed arm had also belonged to the same unfortunate being. Curiously, he wondered what had happened to the rest of the soldier.

Excitement had gripped his insides. Clearly, the portal could connect the user to the past. He would have to study this much more extensively. But...what about the future? And was there a way to control it? If only he could make out more of those dratted heiroglyphics!

The third time he had attempted the portal spell, this time speaking slightly different incantations from the next page, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be the streets of London -- but different. Far, far different. The noise! And the smell was different. He was used to the streets of London being dusty, and filthy, and smelling like animal refuse and unwashed humanity, noisy from milling crowds and squealing animals. But the brief whiff he caught through the ring of flame smelled cleaner, yet different. Mechanical, almost. Oily. And the carriages! Where were the horses?

But before he could begin to understand what he was seeing, a startlingly-lovely woman had walked by. She wore a dress of indecent length -- clearly, she was not of good breeding. Perhaps she was a harlot. The woman stumbled; she did not fall through the flames, which she did not appear to be able to see, but a small, silvery rectangular object fell from her hand and burst through the ring. He heard her utter words that no lady of his acquaintance would ever say.

Instantly, the ring of flame vanished, leaving Lazerus incredibly curious about the world that he had glimpsed. Instinct told him that he had looked upon the future, for he knew of no time in London's past when it appeared as such.

Frowning, he bent down and picked up the rectangular object. It was a type of metal, with a small square piece of glass embedded near the top of it, and a pad of buttons with numbers on them. The buttons were made of a curiously soft, pliable substance. He touched a few of them, experimentally, and nearly dropped the object in shock when the corresponding numbers appeared on the small glass window.

He had promptly set the bizarre object down next to the severed arm (which he then used a preservation spell on -- both on the arm, and on the dead animal, as they were beginning to smell.) Clearly, these were mysteries to be investigated further.

Lazerus had then returned to his books, feverishly muttering and making notes, and at last he had fallen asleep, only to be startled awake by Fingal hours later.

xxx

"Fingal." Freshly bathed and changed into clean clothes, Lazerus entered the manor's library a short while after the earlier incident. "Fingal, my dear companion. I must apologize for my harsh behaviour earlier."

He knelt beside Fingal's favourite old leather chair, where the diminutive Goblin was hidden behind the large volume that he was pretending to read. Lazerus felt another wash of guilt, as he heard a small sniff, and he reached up to gently ease the book from Fingal's hands. Hunched protectively into the chair, the Goblin glared at him. His eyes were ringed with red, and Lazerus felt terrible. He'd taken Fingal in many years before, when the Goblin's parents had been killed. There had been no one else who would take the child -- Lazerus could not leave him to starve. Fingal had been just under three years old then, and Lazerus was like a father to him -- as much as a human could be, to a Goblin.

"Come," said Lazerus, with a gentle, impish smile. "I was tired, and I was not myself. I am sorry, my dearest Fingal. Might I ask of you a great boon?"

"Perhaps." Fingal's small mouth pouted. "Perhaps not. Depends."

"Well, my old friend, I have bathed, and changed, as you have so wisely suggested. However, I have not yet eaten. Might there be some small crumbs of food still in the pantry? A drop of ale? Anything will be welcome, for I am very hungry. But if you have nothing for me --"

Fingal jumped up with alacrity, and leapt over the arm of the chair onto the soft carpet. His short legs scampered him along. "I fed the hot meal to the pigs! But I shall see if I can scrape up anything for you, Master Lazerus. Wait here, and I will return shortly. Oh," he added, turning back from the doorway. "The Daily Prophet has arrived. It is on the low table, Master."

"Thank you, Fingal," said Lazerus with a grin. He straightened up with a grunt, rubbing his lower back. He was still stiff and sore, despite the hot bath. "I shall await your return. And by the by, we do not have pigs."

"Stay there," said Fingal, pointing at the chair. Lazerus seated himself, endeavouring to look meek and obedient. It was an old game, an old joke between the two of them.

"Right here?"

"Right there." The Goblin frowned menacingly.

"Not over here, in this chair?", asked Lazerus, teasingly. "Or in this chair, closer to the fire, perhaps? Or mayhap the window seat --"

Fingal rolled his eyes and stomped out, leaving Lazerus chuckling. "I'll stay right here, Fingal," he called, still teasing. "I shan't move an inch!"

"See that you don't," Fingal replied, huffily.

Lazerus laughed gently, and spread open the Daily Prophet. On the table beside him, a bottle of ale and a plate of cheese and bread and meat appeared. There was a bowl of hot, thick soup, and a crock of sweet butter. It all smelled delicious.

"Thank you, Fingal, for finding me a dinner in the non-existent pigs' non-existent trough," Lazerus called out. He knew the Goblin could hear him. "I'm still in the same spot, you know! Haven't moved a speck!"

There was no answer, but Lazerus smiled. He knew that Fingal could hear him. _One hasn't been properly ignored, _he thought, _until one has been thoroughly ignored by one's favourite Goblin. _Taking a huge bite of bread, he began to read the Prophet.


	3. Chapter 3

Three

Late August, 1981

Salem, Massachusetts

"Come in." The sharp voice replied to the knock on the office door.

The dark-skinned man seated at the desk looked up as the newcomer entered his bright, spacious office, and he frowned. Kojo Bungawunga was not in the mood for this nonsense today. _Why do I always have to come down on him? Over and over and over? Why can't he just...I don't know, stay in line for once? I'm getting damned tired of this._

Truth be told, after eight years of working with Simon Nigel-Nickerson, he still had no idea what went on in the man's head.

There was no denying that the man was good. Too damned good. In eight years of service with the American Magical Law Enforcement Association, Simon had proved himself to be deserving, and more, of his Special Agent status. He had become one of the most formidable, and famous, Magical Law Enforcement Agents in the United States.

But he was a maverick, no two ways about it. And after what had happened on his last case, Kojo's patience was near an end. Things had to change.

"Sit down," Bungawunga barked. He flattened his palms on top of his desk, and fixed the agent with a glare.

"I'd rather stand," said Simon mildly, in his lazy drawl. His blue gaze was amused.

"I didn't ask your opinion. Now sit down or get out. Frankly, I don't care which you do, at this point." Bungawunga leaned back in his comfortable leather chair, and folded his arms, glaring pointedly away from Simon and out the window. After a moment, Simon sat down, a thinly-disguised sneer on his face.

Not yet thirty, Nigel-Nickerson looked much older. His long, lean frame was hidden under layers of bulky clothes, and a long, ratty coat. Bungawunga wondered why Simon didn't just buy a new coat -- he'd been wearing this one ever since he had met him, and it was getting to be disgusting. Simon's thin face was prematurely lined, on the forehead and around those soulful turquoise-blue eyes. Frown lines, and smile lines.

Simon's hair looked as though it hadn't been brushed in years -- chin-length and shaggy, with outdated sideburns that stretched down to his chin. Bungawunga often thought that Nigel-Nickerson reminded him of a blonde, street-bum version of Clint Eastwood.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Nigel-Nickerson asked in his soft drawl. Bungawunga had never been able to place the accent. He knew that Simon was originally from upstate New York, but his accent -- a curious mix of British and Southern, contrasting oddly with his precise speech patterns -- was hard to place. Combined with Nigel-Nickerson's soft, gravelly voice, it could be very mellow and very soothing. Right at this moment, however, Bungawunga was anything but soothed.

"Try smartening the hell up, for one thing," Kojo snapped. "What the hell happened in Ohio?" He slammed his hand on the thick paper file.

"It's all right there, sir," said Simon, nodding his head at said file. He stood there patiently, keeping calm.

Kojo made a sound of disgust. "I'm getting a little tired of perps ending up dead before we can prosecute."

"At least you don't have to worry about them re-offending," Simon pointed out. He offered Bungawunga a small smile, and raised his eyebrows. "A permanent solution, so to speak. Much easier on the innocent."

"It's not funny!" Bungawunga roared. A sweep of his hand , and a quick wind slammed the door shut. "You're a law enforcement agent, not a blasted vigilante!" He stood, pointing at the younger man. "One more toe out of line, and I'll drum you right the hell off this force! You'll end up issuing parking tickets in Kalamazoo for the rest of your useless life, you hear me, Nickerson? Do you hear me?"

Simon jammed his fists into his pockets, and sighed. "I hear you, sir."

"Then prove it!", Bungawunga snapped. "Lucky for you, we're short-staffed. A case has come up, and I've got no one else to assign to it. Otherwise, I'd put you on traffic detail."

Simon grinned. "I'm a lousy traffic cop, sir."

"You're not much good at anything else." Bungawunga shook his head, irritably. "Fine. Read this." He tossed a file at Simon, who leaned back in his chair and swiftly scanned the contents. After a few moments, the agent looked back up at the director, an intrigued expression on his face.

"That's...weird."

"Yes, it is, isn't it? Canadian MLE is assigning someone to work with you on this, as it's international. We're to Apparate to their Toronto office at two-fifteen for a full briefing. And do me a favour?"

"Certainly, sir. Name it."

"Try not to get anyone killed on this one."

There was a pause -- then, Simon grinned mischievously, and saluted. "Aye-aye, sir," he said smartly, turning on his heel and exiting the office. He could just hear the director's voice behind him.

" Blasted smartass."

xxx

Constable -- no, make that Detective, Junior Grade -- Lucie DeGrace sat in the large, intimidatingly-immaculate briefing room located in the Toronto Canadian Magical Law Enforcement Headquarters, fiddling nervously with a pen. Despite it being summer, the air conditioning system had rendered the room freezing -- or was that just her nerves? And the silence was oppressive -- she was sure that one could hear the proverbial pin drop in here, even on the drab carpeting.

She had been transferred from CMLE beat cop in Cape Breton to the Toronto office just four days ago, and she still had to pinch herself sometimes, to make sure that she wasn't dreaming. Detective, at last!

At twenty-four years old, she was the youngest detective on the force. The last few days, she'd done nothing more than move into a shabby hotel downtown, explore the city a bit, and review endless documents and manuals in the training room at headquarters. It was just a few hours ago that the cop manning the front desk -- Jeff, or Jake, she couldn't remember which -- had found her and informed her that she was receiving her first assignment today, and that she was to finish reading the orientation manuals by that afternoon.

Thank Merlin for speed-reading, she thought now, still nervously tapping her pen on the table top. She hoped that she hadn't missed anything vital. The important thing, however, was that she had finished, and had shown up early for the briefing. Quite early, in fact. She was the only one in the room.

The door to the briefing room slammed open, and Lucie jumped. However, she hastily composed herself, and stood up, as the CMLE Director Of Operations walked in.

"DeGrace," he said, nodding brusquely. He was one of those types that looked as though chiseled out of granite. He reminded her of her great-great-great-great grandfather, whom she had spent her teenage years being raised by. If you could call the occasional grunt and snarl "raising".

"Director Spencer," she said, holding out a nervous hand.

He stopped and stared at her, appraisingly, for a moment. Then, with grudging approval, he took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake, which she returned. He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded again, briefly.

"Sit down, Detective DeGrace. Gentlemen," he said, indicating to the men who followed him into the briefing room. "Please be seated."

Feeling more confident, Lucie sat down and folded her arms on the table, pen in one hand and a pad of paper in front of her. She took a moment to examine the newcomers.

Two of them, she recognized, with a small thrill, were from the Homicide Division. Was her first case to be a homicide investigation, then? The third man, a handsome black man, she recognized from pictures as Kojo Bungawunga, Director of the American Magical Law Enforcement Association. The fourth man, she didn't recognize at all, and she stared at him frankly, wondering what his story was. He had an interesting look to him.

For one thing, he looked like a street person. Or would have, if not for that razor-sharp blue gaze that was examining her from head to toe. As their eyes met, he held her gaze for a moment, then his own gaze flicked away, his face grim.

Lucie rather got the impression that she had been measured, and judged, and had been found wanting. It didn't bother her. One thing that she had learned, early during her Academy days, was that she had to be her own biggest cheerleader, if she was going to succeed. Lucie was used to standing on her own two feet.

They took seats around the briefing table. "Lady and gentlemen," said Spencer, "Allow me to introduce everyone. I'm Alan Spencer. This," he indicated the man to his left, "Is Jim Clark and next to him is Samson Dubear, captain and commander, respectively, of Homicide Division. Kojo Bungawunga, Director of the AMLE, and Special Agent Simon Nigel-Nickerson, also of AMLE. And not least, Lucie DeGrace, Detective Junior Grade. Today's her first day here at CMLE Toronto."

"I apologize," he continued. "I don't mean to disrespect the American delegation with, and forgive me Detective, but Ms. DeGrace is the greenest of rookies, and I apologize for putting you all in such a situation. However, Ms. DeGrace has compiled a highly-respectable record in four years with the Cape Breton MLE as Constable. We're dreadfully short-staffed at the moment, with all our more experienced personnel involved in other cases." He looked directly at Simon. "Any objections, Special Agent Nigel-Nickerson?"

Lucie said nothing, did not even glance at the special agent. Nigel-Nickerson! She'd heard of him at the Academy -- apparently he was a real hell-raiser, but he had a reputation for leaving no case left unsolved. She couldn't believe her luck -- her first case, and she was working with someone of his stature! Surreptitiously, she pinched herself again.

Nigel-Nickerson was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "No. No problems. Any problems with you, Ms. DeGrace?"

Lucie finally looked at him, and smiled. "Not at all, Special Agent," she said, trying to contain her excitement. If she did well on what was obviously going to be a high-profile case, it could make her career. Simon Nigel-Nickerson could turn out to be the world's biggest jerk, and she didn't care -- she still would make damned sure that she had no problems. This could be her big chance! And she'd learned, long ago, not to take things personally on the force.

"Right, then. Down to business." All heads turned to Director Bungawunga, as he pointed a hand towards the blank wall. Immediately, the lights in the room dimmed, and a small projector on the table in front of him activated. An image appeared on the wall, of a pretty wooded area. Lucie could see a large brick building in the background.

"This," said Bungawunga, "is a clearing in the woods behind the Salem Wizards' And Witches' Institute, in Salem, Massachusetts. And this," he tapped the projector, and the next image came up. They saw a battered young woman in a hospital bed. "This is Caroline Skyland, of Maine. She's a first-year student at the college." He tapped the projector two more times, and two photos appeared, side by side. "This is Olson Carter, of Kentucky, and this is David Garrett, of Vancouver. They are also students at the Institute, and they are missing. One or more is presumed dead."

He tapped the projector off, and raised the room's lights again, and turned to face them. "This is not, strictly speaking, a homicide case as of yet. But it may well be."

"According to Caroline Skyland, she and Olson and David were gathering some herbs in the woods two days ago. She was reaching for something just slightly out of her reach, and both of her companions were holding on to her, trying to help her retain her balance."

"With no warning, a flash of light -- a ring of blue flame, as she says -- appeared, and the next thing that any of them knew, they were being pulled -- along -- for want of a better word. Caroline says that it felt like a portkey, but it also felt strange, as though the portkey was malfunctioning. Apparently it was a rather rough ride, as you can see from her injuries. She's reported that she and the other two students were all pretty beat-up after that wild ride, and not from any treatment that they received afterwards."

"After a few seconds, the three of them landed in a large, wood-panelled room, where a wizard stood there, staring at them in shock. He identified himself as 'Lazerus', never giving his last name."

"He and his Goblin servant fed them, and was quite kind to them, questioning them very thoroughly about who they were and where they came from. They answered his questions. He even answered a few of theirs. For instance, according to him, they were in the Hogsmeade Woods, at his manor -- Dragonwoode Manor, and the date was August twentieth -- _in the year eighteen-ninety_."

Kojo Bungawunga paused at the expressions of disbelief and amazement on his listeners' faces. "There's more. This "Lazerus" explained that he had been experimenting with some ancient Egyptian texts, and had accidentally discovered these time-travelling portals, as he called them. Yes, Detective DeGrace?", he said politely, as Lucy held up a hand.

"Excuse me, sir. When you say Hogsmeade Woods, are you referring to the Forbidden Forest in Scotland? I attended Hogwart's, sir."

"It is believed so, yes."

"But no one lives in the Forbidden Forest, sir. Although there were rumours, when I was a student, that a dark wizard once made his home there, and that the woods were cursed, and his home was destroyed, lest his dark secrets be revealed...at least, those were the rumours...", she trailed off, disconcerted by the attention that she was getting. She felt a flush creeping up her neck, but willed herself to maintain eye contact and not duck her head. "Forgive me, sir, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Fascinating," said Nigel-Nickerson. "We've been searching old maps, and old records, to try to find out who this 'Lazerus' might be. Do you remember hearing any names, Lucie, or anything that might help us?"

"No," she said, thinking hard. "No, but my grandfather has lived in Hogsmeade for -- well, for a very long time," she said, with a grin. "And my uncle is Headmaster at Hogwart's. We can talk to them, see what we can find out."

"Albus Dumbledore is your uncle?" Kojo Bungawunga said, staring at her in surprise.

"Yes," Lucie said. "It may be difficult to get hold of him, and my grandfather, as they're both heavily involved in the Order Of The Phoenix Resistance movement."

"Yes, quite," said Bungawunga. "See what you can do, though. In the meantime, I'll finish the story. So Caroline said that this 'Lazerus' offered to send them back to their own time, one by one. Not together, for he wasn't sure of himself, with these unfamiliar spells. He said that he would send Caroline first. Lazerus left the room, to make preparations."

"However, when she was alone with her schoolmates, one of them warned her not to go -- he said that he was certain that he'd heard of this 'Lazerus', and was certain that he was up to no good. He warned Caroline to stay with them, that they needed to stick together. When he returned, however, Lazerus insisted that she attempt the return. Her schoolmates resisted, and Lazerus attacked them with his wand." Bungawunga sighed heavily. "She didn't recognize the spells that this man used, but -- she feels certain that one of them was a killing curse. She thinks that David Garrett is dead."

There was a brief silence. Then, Bungawunga activated the projector once more. A drawing of a handsome, dark-haired man appeared on the wall.

"This is the description that she has given us. She has said that this drawing is very accurate."

Lucie gasped.

"What is it, Ms. DeGrace?" Simon Nigel-Nickerson stared at her intently. "Do you know this man?"

"I...I don't know him, no," she stammered, staring at the image. "But my uncle does...or did. I've seen an old photograph of him, with my uncle, in his study at Hogwart's."

"Has your uncle ever mentioned anything about that picture? About the man posing with him?" Simon leaned forward, his gaze locked on her.

"Just once," Lucie said, trying to remember. "He said that it was an old friend -- who had gone sadly astray -- but he never mentioned that his name was Lazerus."

"He referred to him as...if I remember correctly...Grindelwald."


	4. Chapter 4

Four

That night in Salem, Lucie looked across the table and said to Simon. "Have you decided yet what you're having?"

She had to smile, looking at him. They sat in an elegant old downtown restaurant, neither one of them looking as though they belonged there. She wore her usual jeans, baggy sweatshirt and Converse sneakers, he wore his bulky layers and long coat. The waiter had been giving them sidelong glances since they had arrived, especially at Simon's coat, but Simon's air of authority had deterred any questions or comments. The room was dimly lit with candles, and in the corner, a piano tinkled discreetly. It was soothing, and a bit romantic -- nice place for a date, she thought, although there was no thought of romance on her mind tonight.

"Well," Simon drawled, flipping open the leather-bound menu. "I'm thinking the cheeseburger platter, myself."

"Does a place like this even have such a thing? That's pretty lowbrow, you know." Lucie examined the menu, trying not to flinch at the prices. The meal was on MLE's nickel, not hers, but she had a feeling that she had perhaps better not make a habit of dining in restaurants like this. Simon might be able to get away with it, but Simon was a legend. She was just a rookie.

With a flourish, Simon began to read from the menu in his rough, oddly-accented voice. The effect was rather theatrical. "'Grilled to perfection, the finest ground beef capped with melted cheddar that has been aged for five years, and smothered with delicately-sauteed mushrooms, served on a lightly-toasted multigrain bread offering. Accompanied with crisped, golden potato wedges, seasoned and baked to mouthwatering standards.' Sounds like a cheeseburger platter to me." He looked up at the waiter, who was pouring water with a carefully-neutral expression on his face, and said, "I'll take one. Well-done. Oh," Simon leaned close to the man, and said, "And when I say well-done, I mean that I want it to crunch when I bite into it. If it doesn't break my front teeth, it's not cooked." He wiggled his bushy eyebrows.

Lucie stifled a giggle at the expression of horror on the poor waiter's face. "My God, that sounds good...make it double, but I don't want mine charred to a crisp. Well-done, though. Oh, and a side order of breaded shrimp." She smiled at the hovering waiter. "And may I have a Diet Coke to drink?"

"Certainly, madam. And for you, sir?" The waiter looked down his nose at Simon.

"Budweiser. Make sure it's cold. And don't bother us. We've got important issues to discuss." He flashed the Muggle version of his badge. "F.B.I." MLE officers all had Muggle-equivalent identification, to expedite matters when dealing with Muggles. Except in a few places, such as Salem, most Muggles had a bit of an issue with people waving around MLE badges. They tended not to believe in them, for one thing. So for that reason, it was much easier to pretend to be F.B.I. and R.C.M.P.

Lucie hid a smile as the waiter's attitude changed to grudging respect. "Yes, sir. Coming right up, sir."

"Thank you," Simon said, turning back to Lucie. "Comes in handy sometimes," he muttered, pocketing his badge and shield. "Got yours?"

"Yup." She pulled out her Canadian Law Enforcement identification, emblazoned with a cheerful, large red maple leaf emblem and the legend, " Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Special Services Division". She often thought that it sounded as though she was a receptionist, or custodian. "Although I don't use it as effectively as you do 'Rookie' just doesn't have the same ring to it, you know?"

"You'll get used to it." Simon nodded as the waiter politely deposited their drinks. "So. About this case."

"Yes," she said, examining her Diet Coke with interest. It was served in a long, thin glass, garnished with slices of lemon and lime skewered on a beautiful glass stick. She pulled the maraschino cherry off the end and nibbled on it, then squeezed the slices of fruit so that their juice dripped into the soda. The candles on the table caused dark red reflections in the liquid, making it look very pretty. In fact, it was certainly the most attractive glass of soda that she'd ever had. "What about it?"

"Are you going to get in touch with your uncle and grandfather?"

"I've already sent an owl to my uncle. Again, I'm not sure if it will reach him. They're in a tight situation at the moment." _Not to mention others who are working with them, _she reflected sadly. Her remaining family, her friends, all risking their lives in the fight against Voldemort. And she was here, safe in North America. Not that she'd had any real choice, though. Not after what Severus had done.

The thought still twisted her insides with bitterness and regret and worry. God, she worried about him. She had worried about him every day for four years now, had ruined potential new relationships over her continuing attachment to him. She sighed. She'd pretty much given up trying to put him behind her, and accepted that her feelings would just have to run their course. _Build a bridge and get over it, kid,_ as Aberforth had often said to her during her childhood. Her eyes stung. She missed him. She missed them all.

"Did you send an owl to your grandfather?"

"Not much point," she said, sipping her drink. It was as delicious as it was pretty. Something about the fruit juice, she suspected. "He'd just get Uncle Albus to read it to him, anyway. I'm not sure if he can't read, or he just won't read. There's no getting Aberforth to do something if he doesn't want to do it." Lucie grinned. "Remind me to tell you about him, sometime. He's a character." She took another sip. "My God, this is good."

"Mmm," agreed Simon, taking a long drink of beer. "So I propose that we investigate the scene of the crime first. Then talk to Caroline Skyland, and then do a bit of research. Grindelwald...Grindelwald...that name is familiar. Damned familiar."

"It is, isn't it?" Lucie smiled at the waiter as he expertly served their cheeseburger platters. They smelled incredible. After he had departed, she continued. "I took a quick peek through the archives before we left CMLE. There's only one reference to Lazerus Grindelwald: British dark wizard, born 1843, died 1945. I'm not sure if it's the same guy, though. I mean, if he's a dark wizard, what's he doing posing in a photo with my uncle? And they were all smiles, all buddy-buddy. I can't see that, not if he's a dark wizard." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I wish I'd paid a bit more attention in History of Magic class, because I am positive that I've heard his name in a scholastic context."

"Maybe he wasn't a dark wizard when the photo was taken. And lighten up on the big words. 'Scholastic context', come on, now. Don't be pretentious, rookie." Simon winked at her, and took a huge bite of his burger, closing his eyes in ecstasy. Lucie couldn't hear it crunch, but he seemed to be enjoying it anyway.

"Hmmm, true. It's a possibility. Uncle Albus never did tell me anything about him. Just that he was an old friend, and that...that he 'belonged to yesterday'." Lucie said, ignoring the 'rookie' comment. She tasted her own burger, and sighed. "This is good, I was starved."

"Me too." They ate in silence for a few moments. Then, Simon asked, with a little grin, "So. What's a nice girl like you doing in a career like this?"

"I've always wanted to be an auror," she shrugged, smirking back at him. "Just decided to do it over here instead."

"Your file says that you're from Canada originally."

"Yes, yes I am. My parents died when I was nine. Albus and Aberforth are my only living relatives, so I was sent to live with Aberforth. He runs a tavern in Hogsmeade -- The Hog's Head. I lived with him in the summer, and went to Hogwart's the rest of the year. Although I got to stay with Aberforth on weekends. Basically, he and Albus were like parents to me." She smiled sadly. "I miss them like crazy."

"When did you move back to Canada? And why?" Simon signalled for another beer, then turned his attention back to Lucie.

"Four years ago." She averted her eyes, then looked back at Simon and said, "What about you? You're almost a legend -- how did you get started out?"

Simon gracefully accepted the change in topic, and began to talk about his schooling and his career. They talked until late in the night, after which they returned to their hotel rooms and rested up for the next day.

The next morning, they met in the hotel's coffee shop.

"Sleep well?" Simon asked. He looked as though he'd not slept a wink. There were dark pouches under his eyes, and his skin had a greyish tone.

"Not too bad," Lucie replied. She sipped her soda and nibbled on a doughnut. Simon was sipping his third cup of coffee, having inhaled his first two. "Did some thinking. Waste of time, though."

"Yeah, me too." He yawned. "I can't seem to find anything more about this Grindelwald."

"Well, maybe we should Apparate over to the Ministry of Magic. Maybe they've got some more information there."

"Yeah, maybe," Simon said, glancing idly around the bustling shop. "We need to talk to Caroline, too, and -- what is that?"

"What's what?" Lucie looked up at him. Simon was frowning, staring at her chest -- so she thought, and felt a jolt of heat colour her face. She hadn't faced sexual harrassment since the Academy, and was not about to tolerate it now, no matter how much of a legend Simon was. "Do you mind?", she said, glaring at him.

"Is that your wand?" He pried her hooded sweatshirt open a bit, to expose her inner wand pocket.

_Ah, damn, _she thought. _I was hoping he wouldn't notice that. _"Yeah," she said, pulling her jacket closed and glancing around. "Yeah, I'm not -- "

"Have you got your ring?"

"Yeah, yeah...uh, right here..." Lucie pulled her pewter MLE ring out of her jeans pocket. "I don't wear it much..."

"What the hell? You're a trained MLE officer! What the hell do you mean, you don't wear it much?"

Blushing furiously, Lucie slipped the ring on. She had never gotten used to wandless magic -- in North America, witches and wizards were trained to use enhancement rings from their earliest school years. A wand was a liability, something that could be easily lost or damaged. In MLE, the loss of a wand could get someone killed. Therefore, it was mandatory to use enhancement rings, which worked much like a wand, but required greater effort on the part of the user. She had barely passed her qualification exams at the MLE Academy on enhancement ring use, and had been instructed to do extra work to catch up to the other students. Lucie, however, had never managed to find the time, and continued to use her wand when needed. She'd managed to never get caught. Across the table, Simon glared at her.

"Use the ring, DeGrace. I don't want to put my ass on the line with some half-qualified detective. Keep your wand in case you need the backup, for God's sake, but I damn well mean it, use your ring and get good at it and fast! You could get someone killed with that wand, you know."

"Yes, sir," she said, still blushing. He was in charge of the case, after all. Neither one spoke again until they had finished their breakfast; then, they rose and walked down the street to the Salem Institute. Simon strode several paces ahead of her, his manner frosty. But she had to admit that he was right. It was her responsibility to work on her skills, and she'd neglected this most vital one. _My own damned fault, _she thought, disgusted. _I deserved that. _

Once they arrived, they went to the reception desk, and were escorted to the office of Headmaster Dingwell. She was not in her office right at the moment, though, so they sat down and waited for her in silence. Lucie kept stealing timid glances at Simon, who ignored her -- she wished that he would say something, break the ice, so that she could try to smooth things over. But he remained silent, and his grim face and set jaw discouraged her from speaking up. _Oh, don't let him be the grudgy, petty type, _she prayed anxiously. _They make dangerous partners..._

"Ma'am," said Simon, rising as the door opened and a lovely, older woman walked in. Charlotte Dingwell had a charmingly plump, grandmotherly look to her that didn't fool Simon or Lucie one bit. One did not rise to the position of Headmaster by being a sweet old lady. Her dark blue robes swirled gracefully around her.

"Simon," she smiled, her pretty face dimpling. "Simon Nigel-Nickerson. You rascal! How have you been? I haven't seen you since you graduated -- although I've certainly heard enough about you!"

"Yes, ma'am. And none of it good, I hope." He bowed over her hand; then, with a wink and grin, he resumed his seat. Next to him, Lucie stood and offered her hand.

"Good morning, Headmaster. I'm Detective Lucie DeGrace, with the CMLE. We're here to investigate the disappearances of Olsen Carter and David Garrett. And we'd also like to speak to Caroline Skyland, if that would be possible."

"Of course, Detective. How is your uncle? I haven't spoken to Albus in a few weeks now." Dingwell gazed at Lucie with an expression of concern on her face. "I realize that he is quite busy with the resistance movement over there."

"Yes, ma'am." Lucie sighed. "I haven't heard from him, either. It's a worrying situation. I will let you know, though, as soon as I hear from him."

"Thank you. I would appreciate that. May I offer you both refreshments?" She glanced questioningly at Simon, who smiled and shook his head.

"Thank you, ma'am, but if it's all the same to you, we'd like to get started."

"You were always so impatient, Simon." Charlotte smiled at him, and winked at Lucie. "Well, the fastest seeker gets the snitch, as I've always heard. Did you want to speak to Caroline first? Only she's having her breakfast right now. I've just been to see her."

"It can wait, Headmaster. How about we check out the scene of the crime, so to speak?" Simon rose, and Lucie followed suit.

"Yes, of course. You know where it is? It has been cordoned off."

"Excellent. We can manage on our own, and if you'll excuse us, ma'am, we'll get started immediately. When we've finished investigating, we'll return here, if that's all right with you?"

"Fine by me, Simon. If you two need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

At the door, Lucie paused and turned. "Actually, Ms. Dingwell, there is something we do need. Access to any historical documents that you may have here at the school."

"Certainly, dear. What is it you will be looking for?" Charlotte Dingwell began to make some notes on a pad of paper.

"Anything to do with a Lazerus Grindelwald, ma'am. A wizard who lived from the mid-eighteen hundreds, and died in 1945. And any other wizards by the name of Grindelwald, within the last -- say, two hundred years."

"Grindelwald?" Charlotte's hand shook, and she dropped her pen. She stared up at Simon and Lucie with an expression of shock on her plump face. "Grindelwald? Do you think that he has anything to do with all of this?" Her face went pale. "You think this is the Lazerus whom Caroline spoke of?"

"We suspect so, Headmaster," Lucie said, gently. "Anything at all could be of help to us. Any information at all."

They turned to go, and as they walked away, Lucie was sure that she heard the old woman mutter, "Grindelwald -- oh, dear. Oh, oh, dear..."

xxx

"That certainly got a reaction out of her," Lucie commented as she and Simon made their way to the woods out back. "Think she knows who Grindelwald is?"

"Certainly sounded like it." Simon's voice was dry. "I went to school to Charlotte Dingwell for eight years, and believe you me, it takes a lot to rattle her. You did it in five seconds flat. I'm impressed."

Lucie grinned up at him, accepting the proverbial olive branch, as they ducked under the purple velvet ropes cordonning off the crime scene. "Cool. Well, tell you what. After we talk to Caroline Skyland, how about I hit the books and you talk to your old teacher? See what we can come up with."

"Good thinking, Detective," he said kindly. They stood there for a moment, admiring the pretty surroundings. Hundreds of beech, pine and poplar trees made for an attractive little glen, and shafts of golden sunlight dappled the forest in warm beams of light. The heat brought out the woodsy smells. Lucie drew a deep, appreciative breath -- as exciting as moving to Toronto was, she was an outdoor girl at heart, and she missed Cape Breton enormously. Here, surrounded by crisp green foliage and ferns, she felt a sense of peace that she hadn't felt ever since she had received the news of her promotion.

Beside her, Simon was also breathing deeply, his eyes closed and a small smile on his face. "Ah, that's the stuff," he said softly, with satisfaction. "I've missed it here. See," he pointed to a cheerfully-bubbling stream, with well-worn stone benches set alongside. "See that second bench? From the big oak tree? I used to snooze out there, right on that bench, on hot sunny days. See how the sunlight hits that one particular bench?"

Lucie grinned. "Nice spot."

"Yeah, it was." He grinned. "Mind you, I got woken up more than a few times with bird droppings in my hair..."

Lucie laughed, and looked around again. "It's going to be hard to detect signs of magic here -- the place will be full of them, even though it's the summer session, and there aren't a whole lot of students around. You know they'll have been hanging out in here every chance they got. I would've, if I attended here."

"Yeah -- well, according to what I've read of Caroline's statement, the disappearance took place right over...here..." Far more agile than Lucie would have suspected him to be, Simon leapt over a fallen log and strode over to a vine-covered mound. It appeared to be a slate outcropping. "See the luminen berries? That's what Caroline was reaching for."

"Yes, I see them." Lucie stood on tiptoe; Simon steadied her elbow, as she leaned around him to peer at the rare little berries, dark and mysterious as a moonlit night. Dark moonlight, Severus had always called them. They blended in with the slate rock, and only their pearlescent sheen gave them away. Satisfied, she stood back and put her hands on her hips. "Kind of weird here in these woods, wouldn't you say? Different from what I'm used to."

"What do you mean?" Simon said absently, exploring the slate surface with his fingertips. Every now and then, he'd pause to brush some dirt or debris away.

"Well, it's so quiet. I've grown up running around in the woods, and I've never heard a forest so quiet as this. Mind you, most of my teenaged years were spent in the Forbidden Forest, and trust me, it's never quiet in there. I used to hang around with this Centaur -- nice enough guy, but he never shut up, and -- "

"Quiet!"

Lucie turned to look at Simon, who had turned away from the slate outcropping to stare at her. "What?", she whispered.

"You're right," he whispered back, looking around wildly. "It _is _quiet -- too _damned _quiet! And can you feel that?"

"What?" But she realized what he meant. In her ring. A trembling, or a vibration. Wide-eyed, she reached in her sweater to touch her wand, and found that it was also vibrating. She looked back at Simon. "There's some powerful magic happening," she said softly. He nodded assent, then motioned for her to move.

"Come on -- let's get back. I don't want to be right in the middle of --" He broke off as a flash of blue light illuminated the clearing. "Come on! Get back! NOW!"

"Yes, sir!", she cried earnestly, and turned to run -- only she tripped over something, something that had not been behind her a moment ago -- and then she felt something engulf her. With a weaker flash of light -- pale blue, she noted -- and a roaring, rushing wind, Lucie felt herself being pulled...away...

Just a quick flash before she was sucked into -- whatever it was -- Lucie heard Simon scream her name, and she caught the barest glimpse of what she had tripped over. She gasped as she recognized the person's face from the photo that she had been shown.

David Garrett. His body.

Then the maelstrom took her, and she knew no more.


	5. Chapter 5

Five

Hogsmeade

1890

It was a slow day in the Hog's Head Tavern. Two trolls sat in the corner, nursing large mugs of faintly-smoking beverages, and several secretive-looking Goblins sat by the fire, muttering in low tones over their brandy coffees. By the light of the one good window sat an old woman checking off items on a shopping list, with a half-drunk bottle of butterbeer beside her elbow, which was growing warm in the strong sunlight. And at the bar sat a tall, thin man, wearing rather glaring purple, red and gold robes which, combined with his long red hair and full red beard, made for quite a colourful display. He sat at the bar chatting gaily with the more taciturn barkeep, also a tall, thin man but with a long red ponytail and a neatly-waxed goatee. Although their styles were very different, it was not difficult to tell that the two men were related, if not twins.

"So the three hags go into the bar with the vegetarian vampire, and -- " Albus Dumbledore paused in the telling of his slightly-ribald joke, and turned towards the door, which he had just heard swing open. He recognized the newcomer and smiled widely. "Lazerus Grindelwald! I was just asking Aberforth about you earlier! We were wondering where you'd got to."

"Just working, my dear old friend," said Grindelwald, as he smoothly swung onto a bar stool next to Albus. "Working like a house elf, truth be told. Ah, but what discoveries I have made!" He turned and smiled at Dumbledore. "If you have time today, old friend, you will have to come visit me, and I shall show you the fruits of my labours. I find I am in dire need of your advice, and assistance." He nodded at Aberforth as the man silently placed a glass of firewhiskey in front of him.

"I shall be delighted to help, Lazerus," said Albus with concern. "But what of yourself? You look fairly exhausted." Albus studied his friend carefully, noting his pallor and the lines of exhaustion around his eyes. Even Grindelwald's attire, usually so carefully attended to, was lacking today. He wore black velvet trousers tucked into black leather riding boots, a flowing and voluminious white cotton blouse, and a long, black velvet cloak, lined with silver. Unusually for Lazerus, however, the shirt was wrinkled, and the pants and cloak were dusty. The boots could have used a polishing. Albus noted that Lazerus looked to have two or three days of beard, and his hair could do with a wash and a trim. All in all, his friend did not present his normal immaculate appearance. Dumbledore was faintly alarmed.

"Oh, I am exhausted, Albus, yes indeed," replied Lazerus cheerfully. "But with good results! I have lately returned home from a speaking engagement in a most exotic land, and while there, discovered the most marvellous tomes -- " He broke off, as the front door slammed open, and an odd-looking young woman stumbled into the bar, breathing heavily. Everyone turned to look at her.

Her attire and style was odd enough -- her eyes were a strange shade of amber, her unbound taffy-coloured curls lay in disarray around her chubby face, and she wore some odd kind of hooded blue tunic, with a narrow strip of metal running down the middle of the front of it. On her legs were light blue trousers, which was shocking enough, and she wore unusual-looking black-and-white shoes. She was bruised and bleeding, and cradling her right hand protectively, upon which she sported a large, pointed pewter-coloured ring. She looked ill, injured.

Everyone in the bar stared at her. She, in turn, stared at the patrons lining the bar and mumbled dazedly, "Oh my God...it's you..." Fiercely, she used her left arm to hold up her right hand, which she pointed at the confused Grindelwald.. "You are under arrest! You have the right to remain silent...anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...you have the right to an attorney..." Her voice grew fainter, however, and in the next moment, she collapsed, her head spinning.

"I say, what are you about, young miss?", asked Grindelwald in astonishment. "Are you mad?" He rose from his stool.

As she faded to unconsciousness, she heard her great-great-great-great-grandfather say, "What in the middle fourteenth hell ...?" Then all was dark.

xxx

"Well, you must admit, Aberforth, that certainly did liven up your day some."

"Very funny." Lucie heard the familiar growl, which made her smile. Before she opened her eyes, she reached with all her senses, to determine her surroundings. Lumpy mattress...stale-smelling air...she opened her eyes to see Albus and Aberforth bending over her in one of the small rooms that Aberforth rented out. With a start, she realized that the room was the same one that she had lived in -- or would live in, rather -- when she would come to live with her grandfather. Judging from what she had seen of Albus' and Aberforth's appearances, she would not be a regular occupant of this room for several years yet. And Grindelwald appeared to look much as he had in the drawing that she had seen. With any sort of luck, she was close to the same time in which the third student was.

"She's awake," muttered Aberforth unneccessarily. "Give her a drink of this. See if it clears her head."

"This will clear anyone's head -- and their sinuses," said Albus, amused. Lucie felt herself being lifted to a sitting position, and the harsh sting of firewhiskey on her lips. She burst out into a fit of coughing and choking, and blindly pushed the drink away from her.

"Swill," she muttered. "Make me sick. Don't like alcohol." She heard Aberforth snort in outrage.

"Then bloody well take your scummy hide out of my bar, you crazed nincompoop!"

"Nincompoop?" She chuckled weakly.

"Tut, tut, Aberforth," said Albus kindly. "No need to be rude. Here you go, miss. We've patched up your injuries, including your wrist. It appeared to be broken. Here, have another sip -- it will calm you."

"No...no, thank you..." Lucie gasped, her eyes watering. "What...what day is it?" She curled her legs up underneath her, realizing that she was no longer aching and bleeding in a hundred places. Her wand hand was as good as new, and she flexed the fingers experimentally. If only her head would stop spinning -- she'd never liked portkeys at the best of times, and this latest trip certainly didn't fall under the "best" category. Bloody nightmare, more like it.

"Why, it's Monday," said Albus.

"What date?"

"August twenty-first."

Lucie glared at him. "What _year_?"

"Oh my," said Albus in dismay. "You did rather take a blow to the head, didn't you?"

"What year is it?"

"Why, it's eighteen-ninety. What year were you expecting it to be?" Albus frowned at her. Beside him, Aberforth muttered something about having a bar to tend and not having time to waste on lunatics and nincompoops, and stomped out of the small room.

"Eighteen-ninety...my God..." She covered her face with her hands, peeking at Albus through her fingers. "You've got to be crapping with me."

"Watch your language, please."

Lucie stared at him for a long moment, then grinned. "You never change, do you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh...ah, nothing. Hey!" She stood up suddenly, and the room spun around her. Lucie reached out blindly and grabbed the bureau that would still be beside the bed nearly a hundred years later. "Hey! Where's Grindelwald?"

Dumbledore stood and caught her elbow. He stared at her quizzically. "Lazerus is behind the bar, keeping an eye on things for Aberforth. What were you saying earlier? About him being under arrest?"

"What?" Lucie stared at the weirdly-young version of her great-great-great-great uncle, nonplussed. Then she remembered what she had said before her collapse. Shaken, she sat down on the edge of the bed again, ignoring Albus's questioning glance.

What was she going to do? Clearly, whatever obscure bit of magic that had returned David Garrett's body, had caught her up and brought her to this time, and in fact had dumped her in the middle of the dry, dusty street, from about fifteen feet in the air. No wonder she'd hurt her wrist. She'd probably hit her head at the same time. Lucie wondered why it had not brought her straight to Grindelwald's house, but then she realized -- he'd been using the magic to _send_ something back to her time, not bring something back to his. She shook her head. It was just lucky that she'd arrived in one piece, considering. Now that she thought about it, it was lucky that all three students had survived their trip into the past. Initially, anyway.

But what to do now? Here she was, stranded a hundred years in the past, attempting to -- to what?

Arresting this Grindelwald -- that was out of the question, really. What had she been thinking? Maybe Aberforth was right, maybe she was a nincompoop. But she wasn't here to interfere with history. Hell, she shouldn't be here at all. But since she was...she owed it to the third student -- Olsen Carter, wasn't it? -- to try to rescue him, and to somehow return to their own time.

But how to do that? She couldn't interfere with the past -- that could have untold ramifications upon the present. But just being here could be problem enough -- her very presence could affect history. And she didn't know enough about this Grindelwald to know how to proceed. He was the wild card, to be sure, and he held the ace up his sleeve. Olsen Carter. A jolt of panic hit her -- Caroline Skyland had said that they had answered any questions that this Grindelwald had asked them. Questions about the future, about themselves, where they came from... So history was already interfered with. Damn.

Grimacing, Lucie rubbed the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache coming on, and she sighed in frustration. She wished Simon were here. If she wasn't careful, her first case was going to be her last case -- she needed to handle this on her own, and quite frankly, she was terrified. This was so far beyond anything in her experience.

_Build a bridge and get over it, kid._

"Are you all right, miss?" Albus placed a warm, comforting arm around her shoulders, and Lucie felt a warmth flood her gut. How many times had he done that, over the years? She longed to throw herself into her uncle's arms, but some shred of common sense prevailed. He had no idea who she was, after all. He'd probably think she was a lunatic.

Breathing deeply, she looked up into the bright blue eyes of her beloved uncle. And then she realized something. Regardless what happened, both Aberforth and Albus were alive in her own time! The ultimate stroke of luck. If worse came to worst, she could tell them the truth. She felt certain that they could be relied upon for discretion, and wisdom. Assuming they believed her, that is.

"Miss?" Albus repeated, giving her that same piercing blue stare that she had grown up with. A sudden thought struck her.

"Are you a legilimens?", she asked, not caring that it could be considered a personal, and somewhat rude, question. In her own time, Albus was a legend at that art, but had he learned it yet, in this time?

Albus smiled. "Yes, I am. Although while I have studied extensively, I have not yet reached the point where I can intrude upon another's mind without their knowledge, or their permission, even. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "Just wondering." Then she smiled, weakly. "I need to get cleaned up, I look like crap. Could you give me a hand with transfiguration? I'm still not feeling well. Let me try first, though."

"What are you going to transfigure?"

"Myself." With a tap of her beringed wand hand, Lucie's clothes did a sluggish change into long, everyday black robes. She ran her fingers through her messy curls and muttered a quick incantation -- her hair arranged itself into an elegant updo. Another incantation, and she swept her hands in front of her -- the dirt and dust and dried blood disappeared, leaving her with the tingly clean feeling that she always experienced after a bathing spell.

"There -- did I get everything?"

Albus looked her over critically, and used his wand to tap the back of her robes...she had missed a few spots. "There you go. And now for your shoes..."

"No, those are fine," she said, hastily. She had no intention of trying to get around in nineteenth-century footwear. Her feet were too accustomed to the comfort of her Chuck Taylors. Taking another deep breath, Lucie checked her reflection in the mirror, and smiled slightly. She looked like a little girl playing dress up in her mother's robes. Then she turned back to face her uncle, who was studying the ring on her hand curiously. His blue eyes flicked up to lock on her golden ones, disconcertingly astute.

"I can't offer you any explanations yet, unfortunately. Not yet.," She said, pulling her hand away. "But I can tell you that I'm here from...from...well, another place...to conduct some investigations." She sat down beside Albus, and took his hand gently in her other hand, the one not wearing the enhancer ring. While he looked surprised, he did not withdraw it from hers.

"It's my mission to save an innocent life, and then return to my own ti-- er, place. Along with that innocent person, if at all possible. I'm not here to hurt anyone, or to interfere with anyone. However -- and I tell you this in complete confidentiality -- the wizard, Lazerus Grindelwald, may be instrumental in my mission."

"I see," said Albus, faintly. "And why -- excuse me for my rudeness, but why are you telling me this information?"

"I'm gonna need your help."

Albus gave her a piercing look. "What kind of help?"

"I need to get into this Grindelwald's house, to search for this innocent person. I need Grindelwald to help us return to our time -- I mean, our home. I need you to help me achieve this. Is he your friend?"

"Why, yes," said Albus. "We've been friends for years. He was at Hogwart's with me, a few years above me. Lazerus is a great wizard -- one of the finest! But you make it sound as though he was involved with something sinister." He looked dismayed. Lucie chose her words carefully.

"He may be."

"But what?" Albus's hand tightened on hers. "How can you expect me to believe you -- I do not even know who you are, and --"

Lucie leaned close to him. "If you can't trust me on my words alone, then you will have to perform legilimens on me. But I would prefer that you didn't. It's crucial, to your own well-being, that I reveal as little to you as possible. I'm trying to look out for you, and for Aberforth." She gazed deep into his eyes, willing him to believe her. She didn't want to burden him with more knowledge of the future than was necessary.

Albus stared back at her for a long, long moment. "I don't even know your name," he whispered.

"It's Lu -- er, Nigel -- Nigella." She paused. "Nigella Nickerson." She held his gaze for a long moment.

"Albus Dumbledore," he said, softly, giving her hand another squeeze. "But, Nigella...why are you really here? And from where? And -- most importantly, I believe -- when?"

She smiled sadly. "I'd really rather not answer the 'when' and 'where' of it, Albus. But I've already told you the 'why'. To rescue someone." She took a deep breath, then continued, knowing that she had to tell him at least part of the truth. "Someone who doesn't belong in this time any more than I do. As you've most likely already guessed," she said, wryly. "Your friend Grindelwald may be accidentally responsibly for my presence, and the innocent person's presence. He may be our only way back home."

She paused, then added, "I need to get to him, Albus. I need to talk to him. I don't plan to hurt him -- in fact, I'm trying to avoid interfering with history any more than I need to."

"History..." Albus whispered, dazed. "Time...a dangerous, and delicate, and beautiful thing..."

"Very true," Lucie agreed, lost in thought.

"Also very dangerous and beautiful," said Albus. "Is truth. Potentially a great weapon." Lucie's eyes flew up to meet his.

"Yes," she whispered. "Which is why I do not want to burden you with it more than you need to be burdened. Do you trust Lazerus Grindelwald?"

"Yes."

"He may be involved with something, something very dangerous. Something that may be a great weapon. And he may be involved over his head. He may need your help."

The sunlight streaming in through the small, dusty window illuminated the swirling dust motes floating between them, giving the room a sparkly appearance. Lucie waited, patiently.

After what seemed an eternity, Albus nodded. "He mentioned something along those lines, earlier. Before you -- ah -- burst in upon us." Albus sighed. "Yes, Nigella. I'll help you," he said. "I will help you. I only hope that I do not regret it."

"Me, too."


	6. Chapter 6

Six

Salem Institute

1981

His eyes heavy from lack of sleep, Simon pored over yet more dusty, ancient volumes. Beside him, Caroline Skyland and Charlotte Dingwell were doing the same, deep within the bowels of the Salem Institute library. A few candles lit the cozy, book-padded chamber.

Simon was exhausted -- it had been a long three days. David Garrett's autopsy had revealed nothing. The unfortunate young man's body had been transported home, to await burial. Simon had spoken to Garrett's parents, and had promised to inform them about the circumstances surrounding their son's death, just as soon as he knew what they were.

"Caroline, are you sure you don't remember a date?"

The pretty student looked over at Simon, her weary head propped upon a fist. There were dark circles under her eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you..."

"Enough." Charlotte spoke. "We've been searching through these books for three days now. Simon, I've found no trace of Lucie in British magical history, except for what is already known." She sighed, her own face slack with weariness. "At least, from the mid-eighteen-hundreds until 1945, when Lazerus Grindelwald was defeated by Albus Dumbledore, there is nothing. Nothing." She looked at him sympathetically. "It is possible, Simon, that she...she did not survive. I'm sorry."

"Dammit," sighed Simon. His heart sank at the words that he had been struggling not to think of. "It only makes sense that she's gone back in time. It's the only thing that makes sense. Charlotte, are you absolutely certain that you've told me everything you know about this crazy Grindelwald?"

"Well, I only encountered him once, in 1937. My parents had gone on tour of Europe, and they brought me with them. My father was greatly involved in research of ancient magical texts, so he arranged to meet with Grindelwald. And I saw pictures of him in the Daily Prophet occasionally," the Headmaster replied. "He was quite sane, though, Simon. As sane as I. Very charming. And he was not as dangerous as this Voldemort is, today, even if many of his actions suggested madness and obsession." She closed the book that she was reading, and pushed it across the glossy dark mahogany surface of the table. "If we could get hold of Dumbledore, he could tell us more."

"Obsession?"

"With the darker side of alchemy. I do not believe that he was a dark wizard, but he did dabble rather a lot in things that he ought not have. Simon, you really do need to get hold of Dumbledore. He was close to Grindelwald."

"That won't be easy, ma'am, but I do plan to try. What was he like? Grindelwald, I mean." Simon looked at both women. "What were his motivations?"

"Handsome," broke in Caroline, flushing slightly. "Really, really handsome. Romance-novel-cover handsome. Charming. Smart. Curious, inquisitive. Really dreamy. Like someone out of an old movie."

"Yes, he was, even in his later years," added Charlotte. "I remember thinking that he was quite dashing, even for a wizard with a dangerous, muddied reputation as his." She paused, lost in thought for a long moment. "And he could never get past Dumbledore. Dumbledore spent years, not exactly fighting him, but keeping him in line. More or less as a conscience, or as a keeper. Grindelwald was always spouting some strange nonsense, to the papers and such. Always how he wanted to get some precious books back, that had been stolen from him. He wanted to find a way to go to the future. He was certain that it was possible." She smiled and shook her head. "And of course, there was also the oldest reason of all."

"What was that, Headmaster?" Simon looked curious.

"His great lost love, as he called it. Her, I mean. Always spouting nonsense about how his great lost love -- a woman named Nigella Nickerson, how's that for a moniker -- was lost in the future, of all things, and he had to find...her..." Charlotte trailed off, the colour draining from her face. "Oh, my God," she said. "Nigella...Nickerson...? Simon...you don't think..."

Simon had jumped to his feet, an expression of great urgency on his face. He felt something _click _inside him. "Think? No, Charlotte, I don't think. I _know._" Panic turned his guts to water. "We can't waste another moment. Please contact the MLE for me. Kojo Bungawunga."

"Class of '54, yes, I know Kojo."

"Tell him what we've discovered. Tell him that I've gone to find Albus Dumbledore. I'm going to Apparate tonight. Now. He's our only hope, to find Lucie. My God," said Simon, shaking his head in amazement. "My God -- this is incredible. She's so young, Charlotte. Just twenty-four. This is her first case." His face grim, Simon pulled on his decrepit overcoat and strode out of the comfortable old library. "I just have to do whatever I can to make sure that this isn't her _last _case. God...lost in the past...my God..."

"Good luck, Simon," Charlotte whispered as the door swung shut behind him. "Good luck."

xxx

It was about four in the morning, in Hogsmeade, where Simon Disapparated. England was about five hours ahead of Salem.

He glanced around, to make sure it was safe, and that he was alone. He couldn't sense any danger, but retreated to the darkness behind a nearby building, to get his bearings and to relax for a moment. Multiple, long-distance Apparations were exhausting, and he needed to catch his breath.

Simon looked around. He hadn't been to Hogsmeade in years, but he was pleased to see that it had barely changed. The place looked like a picture postcard, always had.

There were few signs of life about -- mostly nocturnal cats and dogs -- and all the windows were dark. Even Rosmerta's was dark; most likely, the sensible woman had ejected her rowdy patrons and had gone to bed for some well-deserved rest. Yes, all windows, save for one -- a small window in the Hog's Head Tavern. Proprietor, one Aberforth Dumbledore. Readying himself, Simon strode off in the direction of the pub. This seemed as likely a place as any, to begin his search for Albus Dumbledore. A bit obvious, perhaps, but he did have to start somewhere. He just hoped not to run into any of those damned Death Eaters along the way. Any other time, he'd love to meet up with some of them and teach them a thing or two; right now, however, he had more important things to worry about.

He crept up to the lit window, and leaned up, just enough to peer inside. At first he couldn't see anything, so he stretched a bit further. There! He could just see a person inside, with long grey hair, sitting with his back to the window.

Cautiously, Simon turned to find a way into the building. He couldn't believe that locating Albus (or Aberforth) had been so easy! ...too damned easy...

That was his last conscious thought, as a slim, dark figure stepped out of the shadows, with his wand out, and hit Simon dead-on with a powerful stunning spell. With a grunt, Simon crumpled to the ground.

xxx

"He's coming around now, Headmaster."

"Finally! I thought we were going to have to Enervate him, considering the strength of that Stunning spell, Severus." There was dry amusement in the older man's voice, and chagrin in the younger man's.

"I couldn't take the chance, Albus. You say that you know him?"

"Er...after a fashion, yes. Although...well. Simon Nigel-Nickerson Special Agent, AMLE, according to his identification. He's quite well-known in North America. Quite a good MLE agent. Quite a reputation." The older man chuckled.

"What is he doing here, then?"

"We shall find that out soon enough. You have the Veritaserum?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Veritaserum makes me puke," Simon said in a weak voice. He opened his eyes slightly, tried to focus on his captors. "And that was a bitch of a Stunner, pal." He couldn't make out features yet, but saw that the younger man was catlike-slim in dark clothes and long dark hair. Beside him were two older men, Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore, presumably. One of them -- Albus -- knelt down and helped Simon into a sitting position.

"Simon Nigel-Nickerson?"

Simon nodded. Up close, the man looked exactly as he had on wizard channel newscasts. "Yes, sir. And are you Albus Dumbledore?"

"You presume correctly. Mr. Nigel-Nickerson...have we met?"

"Er...no, sir. Not that I'm aware of."

"Ah. Interesting." said Dumbledore, looking thoughtful. Then he added, "You're looking well."

"Considering that I've just been Stunned within an inch of my life."

"Sorry, mate," said the younger man -- Severus, was it? He didn't sound a bit sorry; in fact, he continued to regard Simon with suspicion.

"Where are we?" Simon looked around. "This isn't the Hog's Head --"

"No, no, it isn't. We have Apparated to the Phoenix headquarters. You're safe here -- for now."

Simon gazed, fascinated, at the walls of the small, slightly-shabby room that they were in. The walls were covered in books. He could sense, however, that there were many hidden doorways behind those books. The warm, cozy, dimly-lit little house fairly reeked of magic. "Read much?", he asked, wryly.

"Not as much as the previous occupants did," said Dumbledore, smiling. Beside him, Severus looked uncomfortable. "What can I do for you, Mr. Nigel-Nickerson? It is myself that you were looking for, is it not?"

"Yes...yes, sir, it was." Simon struggled to his feet, assisted by young Severus. "Thanks, kid," he said.

"Least I could do," said the young man, expressionlessly.

Dumbledore shot the young man an amused, warning glance, and told Simon to sit down on the sofa. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you, sir. My mission is rather urgent, and I would prefer to discuss it in private. With you and Aberforth Dumbledore alone, if you don't mind. No offense," he added, with a glance at Severus. Severus merely raised an eyebrow, and stayed right where he was.

"Now, Mr. Nigel-Nickerson...anything you have to say to me, you can say to Severus. I trust him completely." Dumbledore smiled at young Severus, who looked gratified. Sitting in the chair beside Albus, Aberforth said nothing, but merely glared at Simon, in his crusty-old-man way.

Simon did not want to speak in front of the young man, as his mission was not only urgent, but confidential. He hedged, "Sir...it's about...Lazerus Grindelwald, sir. And it is confidential."

Aberforth gasped, and swung around to stare at Albus. Severus watched them curiously. Albus leaned forward, a small smile on his face. "And so it begins...well. It's about time." Beside him, Aberforth snorted with what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Albus stared at Simon a moment longer, then stood, and placed a hand on Severus' shoulder. "Severus, my dear friend -- I must ask your indulgence. This is, indeed, strictly confidential." He held the younger man's gaze for a long moment; then, Severus nodded, and left the room, without speaking a word. Albus watched him go. As a hidden doorway closed behind the young man, Albus looked around for a moment; then, raising his wand, muttered, "Muffliato!"

"Now, Simon, we may talk." Albus sat down and tapped his wand on the small wooden table. Instantly, a decanter of wine appeared, along with some dusty goblets. Another tap of the wand, and the goblets filled with the wine, while the level in the decanter dropped. _A neat trick_, thought Simon, impressed. Albus handed one to Simon, and another to Aberforth. After a quick, silent drink, Albus leaned forward and said, "Please begin."

"Yes, sir." Simon drained his glass, which instantly refilled. He leaned back against the sofa, and said, "Lucie DeGrace has gone missing. I'm guessing that she's in the past, with Lazerus Grindelwald, searching for a young student from Salem named Olsen Carter. I believe that she is using the name Nigella Nickerson." He paused. "I need whatever help you can give me, sir. I need your help to save her."

He leaned forward, and fixed Albus with his intent stare. "Will you help me?"

Albus met his gaze, unflinchingly, and nodded. "Oh, yes. As I have said, Simon -- it is about time."

xxx

Several hours later, Simon left the Ministry of Magic, armed with a Time-Turner -- in invention based, as it happened, on desperation-fueled research by Lazerus Grindelwald himself. Simon was still reeling, full of the incredible story that the Dumbledore brothers had told him. Incredible! And, he thought, with a rueful grin, they were absolultely correct -- it was, indeed, about time. All about time.

But that was for later. For now, Simon found a secluded, safe spot, and pulled the Time-Turner out of his pocket. Pressing a small button on one side four times, he began the process of turning the little device backwards, ninety-one times.


	7. Chapter 7

Seven

Hogsmeade, 1890

Lucie grabbed a tree trunk to steady herself; Apparation had never been her favourite way to travel, and she was still not up to snuff after her tumultous trip back in time.

"Are you well, Miss Nickerson?" Beside her, Albus looked at her in concern, and placed a hand on her elbow. She grinned at him.

"Fine, Albus. I'm fine. I'm just not the biggest fan of Apparation."

"I see," he muttered, although she wasn't sure if he understood her. "Shall we?"

"Yes, please."

They walked the last few hundred feet to the huge, imposing old manor set deep within the Forbidden Forest -- Hogsmeade Woods, Lucie corrected herself. She'd never ventured this far into the forest before, but would definitely have to make the effort if she ever made it back to the future. What a spectacular house! She wondered if the stories were true, if it was indeed destroyed -- what a shame, if so.

Huge, dark and carved from stone, it was flanked with carved gargoyles and other wizarding-related statuary. Beautiful, in a gloomy, gothic way. She'd always loved this kind of architecture, had dreamed of owning such a house someday. The gloominess was offset by a roaring, crystal-clear stream rushing behind the grounds, and the twisted, mysterious garden behind the manor, populated with a fantastic array of knotted trees and colourful flowers. It looked like a garden that she'd like to explore, to sit on one of the gargoyle-decorated stone benches with a good book. It appealed to her immensely. More than ever, she was curious about this Lazerus Grindelwald. Anyone with a garden like this couldn't be all bad.

"Miss Nickerson," Dumbledore whispered, pausing before they reached the clearing. "We must discuss our plans, before we impose on Lazerus. While he is expecting myself, and an unnamed companion, for dinner, we must have a plan before we go in."

She nodded. "Yes, sir. Well -- all I'm concerned with is getting Olsen Carter out of there, safe and sound. As to how to return to my own time..."

"Time travel is -- strictly speaking -- not yet a possibility. But if what you tell me is correct," he sighed, looking anxious, "Then we may indeed have a problem. It depends upon Lazerus. It all depends upon him."

Lucie nodded agreement, worried. She had briefed him on everything that he had needed to know, without revealing too much. Lucie felt that the less that Dumbledore knew about the future, the less that he had to conceal for almost a hundred years. "The trick is going to be convincing Grindelwald to return us, assuming he is still able to." A thought struck her. "You may be the best one for that. He doesn't know me."

Dumbledore sighed. "He did say that he had some new research to show me. Very well," he said, taking her arm. "Let us proceed. Perhaps the way will be clear, as we go."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet. You're not out of the woods yet, Nigella."

"You don't know the half of it, Albus."

"I don't want to know the half of it."

They passed through the elaborate wrought-iron gate ("Goblin-made", said Dumbledore. Lucie nodded, enthralled -- in her mind's eye, she could picture herself in elegant, flowing robes, strutting around as Lady of the Manor...) and they made their way to the front door. The sun was just beginning to set -- they could barely see its red glare above the tall trees. Inside the woods, it was nearly dark -- _in the gloaming_, Lucie thought, recalling the quaint phrase from something that she had read. It seemed to fit with the odd, entranced, mysterious mood that she found herself in.

Albus rapped three times with the large gargoyle-head pewter door knocker. It made a rich, deep sound on the weathered old wooden door. Lucie could barely hear the patter of little feet from inside the house -- did Grindelwald have children, she wondered, alarmed. That could complicate matters -- she didn't want to risk harm to any innocents, if at all possible.

The heavy door swung open. "Ah, good evening, Fingal. Is your master at home?", said Dumbledore cordially.

Lucie looked around, then glanced down, hiding a smile at the nattily-dressed little Goblin. She'd never been around Goblins all that much, but she'd always thought that they were interesting. As a teenager, the weekly trips to Gringotts with Aberforth were a treasured treat, even more so than the ice cream sundaes that he had always indulged her with at Florean Fortescue's afterwards. The Gringotts Goblins, while a bit brusque, had always been reasonably decent to her. Aberforth had told her that Goblins didn't like wizards much, but they had a real fondness for human children, for some strange reason. One had even given her a candy shaped like a galleon one time, on her birthday. She still had it, somewhere in storage back at the Cape...

"Albus! My dear chap! And who is this with you?"

Lucie swung around, a flush on her face at the sight of Grindelwald. Now that her head wasn't spinning mercilessly, she could take the man's measure more accurately.

Merlin, but he was handsome! The drawing, and the old photograph, had not done him justice. Put aside for the moment that he was possibly an evil, murderous monster -- he was, in her opinion, quite the babe. And there was something...something about him, that made her feel as though she had known him forever. An odd feeling. She wondered about it.

His soft, dark hair had been washed and clubbed back, revealing a lean, well-shaped face with a strong jaw. Those soulful hazel eyes were focused on her, curiousity in their depths, and there was a smile playing around his lips. Lucie looked down, suddenly shy. She couldn't help but notice his clothes -- the rich, soft, dark trousers, polished boots, the butter-soft dark maroon blouse with silver embroidery. He had dressed up for their visit. She was suddenly aware of her own plain dark robe, with dust on it from the streets of Hogsmeade, and wished that her transfiguration skills had been a bit more up-to-par.

"Ah," said Grindelwald, recognizing her. "My would-be captor." He took her hand, and bent low over it. "But who knows?", he said lightly, those dark eyes gazing up at her. "You may yet capture my heart, madam. Such lovely eyes! And such a lion's mane of curly tresses...a name, please." He straightened up, still holding her hand. "I must have your name."

"Now, Lazerus," Albus chuckled. "Must you flirt so overwhelmingly with every woman you see? Allow me to introduce my companion, Miss Nigella Nickerson."

"Nigella Nickerson," Lazerus breathed. The syllables rolled, softly sexy, off his tongue. Lucie felt her stomach turn to water. "A lovely name, for a lovely, lovely lady. Come," he said, offering her his arm. With a slightly-helpless look back at Albus, she allowed Grindelwald to lead her away. "Fingal has prepared a delicious supper for us."

Dinner was an elegant affair. Lucie listened and ate -- the food was indeed delicious, and Lazerus was a gracious, entertaining host. She found that she could barely take her eyes off him. Her opinion of him rose sharply when Fingal assumed a seat at the table. Clearly, Lazerus wasn't too hung up on himself as a big shot, she thought. He treated Fingal as an equal, or cherished friend, even though Fingal referred to him as "Master Lazerus".

"Are you feeling better now, Miss Nickerson?" Grindelwald gazed at her with concern. "Forgive me, but you did seem quite disoriented after your accident today. You say that you fell down a flight of stairs?"

"Yes...er, yes. I'm feeling fine. Although, Mr. Grindelwald ("Lazerus, please", he interjected.) "Lazerus, then. Please, call me Nigella. I must apologize. Albus has told me that I was babbling nonsense -- I am sorry. I do not remember it."

"No matter, Nigella. All is forgiven. As long as you will consent to join us in the library, for coffee and brandy, then I shall forgive you for your incoherent ramblings." Grindelwald smiled, and Lucie felt the floor drop out from under her feet.

_Get a grip, DeGrace_, she told herself sternly. _You're on the job, you're a cop, not a lovesick teenager _-- then she realized something. Flirtation may be the best way to get under the man's defenses. Even if she didn't feel very comfortable about it. And _flirtation _seemed entirely too mild a word for the attraction that she was feeling.

"I would be delighted to join you," she said, smiling. She hoped like hell that she could handle this. Her nerves were nearly shot as it was. If he kept smiling at her like that, she didn't know how tough she would be, when push came to shove.

_Build a bridge and get over it, kid..._

xxx

Several hours later, they were still in the library, drinking and laughing. Lucie sat next to Fingal, whom she positively adored, and listened carefully to the entertaining conversation between Lazerus and Albus. It was fascinating, listening to her uncle talk of his adventures. Who knew that Albus was such a rogue? She was definitely going to have to have a long talk with him someday. And as for Lazerus -- between his warm glances and his magnetic personality, Lucie felt that she had known him all her life. She'd never felt this way with anyone before. It was a glorious feeling.

"No, no, no, Albus, it was not that at all." Lazerus was saying, a smile on his face. "I distinctly recall that you were the one who was too drunk to make it up the stairs by yourself."

"Ah, but Lazerus, who was it in Paris that made sure you escaped from that rather voluptuous little opera singer's clutches...ah," he said, glancing at Lucie. "But perhaps this conversation is a bit...well." Albus belched discreetly. "Excuse me. Lazerus, my old comrade -- what is it you were saying today, about a recent speaking engagement...?"

"Merlin's Beard, Albus! I nearly forgot!" Grindelwald jumped to his feet, his cheeks flushed and his eyes overbright from the brandy that he had consumed. "Yes! You must come downstairs with me, to my workrooms. I have something to show you."

_Finally, _thought Lucie excitedly. _Now we're talking. _She stood, and Fingal rose with her, holding a hand up to her. She gave him a smile and squeezed his hand, allowing him to lead her along behind Lazerus and Albus. _With a little luck, we can find Carter, and persuade Grindelwald to return us to our own time, and let Albus deal with the rest of it. _

_Oh God, though -- how am I going to just...walk away...?_

She thought about the photograph in Albus's office, the one of him with Grindelwald. She wondered when it had been taken, for the two men in the picture looked scarcely different from how they appeared now. _Albus used to take it away from me, _she remembered suddenly. _He used to look so worried when I'd go into his office and go right to that photo, and just sit there and stare at it. I used to pretend that Grindelwald was my secret friend, my imaginary friend...why? Why did I do that? Oh God...I need to be so careful...this is all too weird..._

They passed through old stone passageways, lit by flickering flames in carved-stone gargoyle wall sconces. It was delightful, and Lucie had to admit that she was a bit jealous of Grindelwald, that he could live in such a place and take it for granted. She'd always liked mysterious, romantic old architecture. She stopped herself from half-forming any more fantasies of the romantic, brooding lord of the manor, or of herself here, as his lady... _Olsen Carter,_ she reminded herself firmly. _You have a job to do, DeGrace, and you have a time to return to. You absolutely...can...not...interfere more than you already have. This has got to be fixed, and ended. _She sighed. _Somehow. _

After what seemed an hour's journey (but in reality was just a few moments), they entered a low-ceilinged, dark-panelled room, which clearly served as both study and workroom. It was cozy, and Lucie felt immediately at home. She noted, however, that Fingal immediately went through a door at the end of the room, only to return a moment later. _Checking on something? Or someone? _She memorized the location of the door, hidden as it was by wooden panels. He had tapped the large knothole on one section of panel, tapped it three times, rapidly, and the door slid open easily.

"And what is it, Lazerus? What have you to show me?"

"The most marvellous volumes, my dear Albus. Pray -- come and see." Grindelwald and Fingal hoisted several old -- ancient, actually -- manuscripts onto the polished worktable.

Lucie was no expert, but the writing certainly seemed to be in heiroglyphics to her, and the books were definitely old enough. She focused on the continued conversation. Beside her, Fingal perched on the edge of the table, pointing out particularly beautiful and intricate illustrations to her. She pretended to be interested in them, all the while thinking furiously.

"...breathtaking, Lazerus. Have you deciphered any of them?"

"Very little, Albus. They are, I must confess, in possession of the darkest of information. But dark magic need not be so, not necessarily!", he cried, at the expression on Dumbledore's face. "I seek only knowledge, my friend. Only knowledge."

"You would not use that knowledge, would you, Lazerus?", said Albus, suddenly stern.

"Of course not."

Albus glanced at Lucie, then asked, "Tell me, Grindelwald. Have you come across anything in regards to that most impossible of occurrences -- time travel?"

Grindelwald did not look up from the book that he was reading, but became suddenly still. His dark hair hung down, obscuring most of his face. Fingal looked uncomfortable.

Lucie, in the meantime, had edged her way closer to the hidden door, by pretense of examining the many and varied prints hanging on the walls. It was directly behind her now. She held her breath, as Grindelwald looked up at Dumbledore. His expressive hazel eyes were wary, almost defensive.

"Of course not. Time travel, after all, is said to be impossible." Lazerus spoke in a flat voice. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason, my old friend," said Dumbledore casually, moving closer to Fingal. "Only I've heard some stories -- "

There was a charged moment; then, with an expression of putting two and two together on his handsome face, Lazerus straightened up and swung around to look at Lucie --

-- but she was already gone, through the hidden door. Before Lazerus could draw his wand, Dumbledore had pulled his own wand and pointed it at Fingal. The little Goblin stared down the wand, bravely, if nervously.

"Hand your wand over to me, Lazerus. Do not make me hurt Fingal," he said, in a steel voice.

Breathing heavily, and still more than a little drunk, Lazerus stared at Albus as though he'd never seen him before. He slowly drew his wand, then let it drop to the floor. A few bright green sparks shot forth and dissipated harmlessly. "You would not harm an innocent.", he said. It was not a question.

"Not if I do not have to. Do not make me, Lazerus."

A moment later, Lucie returned with Olsen Carter. He looked none the worse for wear, although the bright light of the workroom left him squinting. It appeared that he had been sleeping. "I'm fine," he mumbled, blinking his tired eyes. "I'm fine, no problems..."

Grindelwald went pale at the sight of him. "Nigella --?", Lazerus began, uncertainly.

She pointed her wand at Lazerus. This was too important to trust her shaky grasp of wandless magic. "Send us back, please. Please, Lazerus. You know the spell. It's in your books. Send us back to our own time, please." Her mouth was set in a grim line.

Grindelwald gasped in sudden realization, then reached out a hand to steady himself as he gripped the edge of his work table. "Your earlier words -- at the Hog's Head. They were not nonsensical babbling, then, were they?", he whispered, staring at her in shock.

"No. I was disoriented, but it was you I was looking for. Now send us back, please." She paused. "I'm not from this time, Lazerus. I don't belong here, and neither does this young man. His family is worried sick for him. We need your help to return." She gave him a pleading glance. "Please help us. Don't make this turn ugly."

"Why should I?" Grindelwald was defiant, playing for time. He glanced over at Albus, who was watching him carefully. "What if I do not know how to do so?"

"Oh, you do. Caroline Skyland arrived home, safe and sound." She detected open relief in his warm eyes, and continued. "David Garrett's body arrived as I was investigating the crime scene. I got caught up in the remnants of the spell. That's how I ended up here."

"The boy's death was a mistake," said Grindelwald, sadly. "I used too much power to stun him, and it killed him. I was frightened. Overwrought. It was a mistake which I shall always regret." He sighed. "I had planned to send this young man back to his own time, safe and secure. But I wished to research the spells a bit more, first. I had no way of knowing if the young woman had arrived safely, and did not want to cause any more harm." He hung his head. "Never did I intend to cause harm. I am sorry." He went silent, and Lucie held her breath, watching him.

"But you have caused harm, Lazerus," said Dumbledore sadly. "There will have to be restitution."

"Yes," whispered Lazerus. "Anything."

"Well, you know that the spell works all right. So send us back. Please." Lucie looked at Grindelwald, pleadingly. "Our loved ones are worried about us. And it will be a step forward in your restitution." She stepped closer, and put a hand on his arm. "Please, Lazerus," she whispered.

There was a pause; then, Grindelwald said, "Very well. Stand back, please, Nigella -- I don't dare send more than one person at a time." He picked up his wand -- closely supervised by Dumbledore -- and pointed it at Olsen Carter, who looked terrified. Lazerus muttered a singsong incantation, and there was a blinding flash of blue flame -- and then Carter was gone --

"There," said Grindelwald, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "May he arrive safely."

"Excellent, Lazerus," said Dumbledore, clearly fascinated. "And now, you must send Miss Nickerson back to the same time."

Lucie looked at Lazerus, who gave her a heart-melting glance. "Nigella -- please -- stay --"

She sighed, shaken and amazed at the depth of her feelings for this man whom she had only met today. How were these feelings even possible? It was insane. Besides, she loved Severus, didn't she? "I have to return."

"I will go with you, then." His expression determined, Grindelwald strode over to her. "I have never met anyone like you, Nigella, and..."

"No, Lazerus!" Dumbledore's voice was sharp. "You belong here, in our time. It is too dangerous, too unpredictable, to mess with time! And that shall be your restitution. You shall help repair the damage that you have caused. Now send Miss Nickerson -- "

"Wait," said Lucie suddenly. She hurried over to Albus, and leaned up to whisper in his ear, "Albus -- I will see you again someday. Just remember, though. My name is Lucie. Lucie DeGrace. Tell Aberforth. Tell him I'll see him again. I love you both." She planted a quick kiss on his whiskered cheek, and smiled at him. Dumbledore stared at her, dumfounded.

Lucie took a deep breath, then walked over to Lazerus. "I'm never going to forget you," she whispered shakily, then leaned up and pulled his head down for a kiss. Lazerus crushed her to him, and, for a few seconds, his lips warm and caressing on hers, her resolve wavered. As they broke apart, he reached out and stroked her cheek, wiping away her tears.

"Nigella...my lovely Nigella...", he whispered, his eyes greedily roaming over her. "I will remember you always." Lazerus bent down and kissed her again, more sweetly this time. There was a desperate sadness in it, and Lucie blinked back more tears as she stepped back. Never had anyone affected her this way, this hard and this fast. Not even Severus.

Heartbreak in his eyes, Grindelwald pointed his wand at her and sang that same, strange incantation. Before the violent, rushing wind took her, Lucie raised her fingers to her lips, and sent him a last, small kiss.

Seconds later -- although it felt longer -- she was lying on the cold ground in the woods behind the brightly-lit Salem Institute, aware of someone trying to help her to her feet. A woman was crying. Through her confusion, she dimly registered that her helper was Olsen Carter, safe and sound and apparently whole, and that the woman who was crying was herself.

xxx

Hogsmeade 1890

It was a beautiful, crisp summer night. Simon Nigel-Nickerson found himself standing just outside the village of Hogsmeade. Behind him, the Hogsmeade Woods were alive with a thousand noises of the night.

Before he could set off for the Hog's Head, however, he became aware of someone Disapparating beside him. "Hello," smiled the man, his arms laden with heavy old books. "Nice night for a walk."

Simon stared, his jaw hanging. "Excuse me," he said, haltingly. "I'm...er...I'm looking for someone."

"Aren't we all?", said the man, lightly.

"Are you...are you Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes, I am. And who are you?" In the moonlight, the man's blue eyes sparkled.

"My name is Simon. Simon Nigel-Nickerson. I'm looking for Lucie DeGrace."

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment, consideringly. "Well. Lucie DeGrace, yes." Then he smiled. "She's returned to her own time, Mr. Nigel-Nickerson. Nigel-Nickerson," he repeated, his smile widening as though at a joke. "Yes, she's fine. She has returned to her own time. Along with the young man whom she was searching for."

"Olsen Carter?" Simon asked, hope surging through him. "Fantastic! Was he all right?"

"That is correct, and he is fine. As is she. However," Albus shifted slightly, and handed the heavy, musty old volumes to the younger man, making him stagger. "She forgot something. She forgot to bring these with her."

Simon grunted under the sudden weight of the books. "Yes, sir," he said, realizing what they were. Albus in the future had given Simon strict and explicit instructions for these books.

"Guard them well. Keep them safe."

"I...I will, sir. I'll do that."

"Good." Dumbledore smiled, turned, and began to walk back into the woods. "Goodnight to you."

"Sir?" Dumbledore turned back to look at the young man.

"Yes?"

Simon hesitated, then smiled. "Goodnight, sir. I'll see you later."

"Ah." Dumbledore thought for a moment, then cocked his head, his glance polite and quizzical. "Will you?", he asked, finally.

"Yes. I will. And so will Lucie."

Dumbledore smiled. "Interesting," he said. Then he turned on the spot, and Apparated.

Shaking his head in wonder, Simon pressed a tiny button on the bottom of the Time-Turner, and, with a small pop! He was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Eight

Late August, 1981

Downtown Salem

Lucie and Simon sat at the same table that they had shared before, in the same lovely old downtown restaurant. They even had the same waiter, who, oddly enough, seemed to sense that any kind of patronizing attitude on his part would be not only unwelcome, but cruel. Perhaps it was something about Lucie's eyes, which bore a faint but unmistakeable air of confusion and grief.

Simon had just finished his cheeseburger platter and was starting in on Lucie's neglected meal. "You gonna finish this?"

"Go ahead," she said, swishing her stir stick idly in her glass of soda. She wasn't at all hungry.

He sighed, and frowned at her. "So the books have been stored in Charlotte Dingwell's study. They'll be safe there."

"Good." She still didn't look up.

"Olsen Carter is going to be fine. A bit shaken, yes. But he's hoping to assist Charlotte in the research planned for those volumes. As is Caroline Skyland." Simon took a huge bite of Lucie's cheeseburger, and, making a face, spat out the hot peppers that she had requested.

"Good," she murmured again.

Simon swallowed, and sighed again. "You did a hell of a job, rookie." He smiled at her, as she finally raised her sad eyes to meet his. Simon shook his head. "Not many people could have pulled that off, you know. I've read and re-read your report, and frankly, I'm amazed at how well you comported yourself."

"I'm not a complete rookie," she said. "I did work the beat for four years."

"Well," he said, giving her hand a brief squeeze. "I, for one, am grateful as hell that you made the move to Detective. You've got the knack, DeGrace."

"Thanks," she said, squeezing back.

"Your old man -- he's one hell of a guy, you know? Dumbledore, I mean."

"Which one?"

"Albus. Barely met Aberforth."

"Oh." Lucie frowned. "I thought you mentioned that Albus had an assistant. Wasn't that Aberforth?"

"Yeah, he did," Simon said, shoving a potato wedge in his mouth and washing it down with a gulp of beer. "Yeah, some young fella. Wasn't Aberforth. Good, though! Man, he got the drop on me, and it's been a long time since anyone's done that. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it."

"Oh, yeah?" Lucie laughed. "Good on him. Did you get a name? Maybe I know him."

"Yeah, weird name. What was it...he's some Goth kid, anyway. Smart , though. Sevanus? Severius? Something like that. Hey, you all right?" Simon asked, alarmed. Lucie had started, and knocked over her Diet Coke.

"Severus?", she whispered, pale.

"Yeah...yeah, that's it. Lucie, are you all right?" Simon gazed at her in concern, discreetly Vanishing her spilled drink.

"I'm fine," she replied, thinking fast. "How was he? Was he okay?"

"Who, Albus?"

"Severus."

Simon smiled gently, understanding. "He seemed fine. Why?"

She smiled back, wanly. "Old school friend."

"Yeah?" Tenderly, Simon patted her hand. "Dumbledore was telling me about him. He's given him a job, starting next month -- Potions Master at Hogwart's." He winked at her. "Why don't you drop him a line? You know, a friendly hello, that sort of thing?"

"Maybe," she replied, her gaze faraway. "Maybe, yeah."

"Well, you know. It might be a good idea, maybe go visit your uncle for a bit, visit old friends -- get your mind off of...things..." Simon hadn't wanted to ask about 'Nigella Nickerson', about how or why Grindelwald had been so adamant about finding her again, but he didn't need to be a seer to recognize the confusion and heartbreak in Lucie's eyes. This case had hit her hard, and he was honestly worried about her. Too much for a rookie to handle, even though she had done so with considerable aplomb.

She had the makings of a great detective, and with a little coaching, he thought she could go far. He knew that he certainly wouldn't mind working with her again. Speaking of...

"I...er, was wondering something."

"What?" Lucie focused on Simon again with difficulty.

"Well...I've been asked to do some private work, down in San Francisco. Private Investigation. I do a bit on the side." He popped the last bit of burger in his mouth, spit out the peppers again, and watched her while he chewed.

"That's good," she said, politely.

"Well...well, what about it? I could use a partner, if you could get a couple of weeks off. December, first couple of weeks. Pays pretty good." He watched her hopefully, noting the small grin growing on her face. A good sign.

"Really. Well...yeah. Sure. I've never been to San Francisco." She smiled and held out her hand. "Actually, Simon, I'm honoured." She chuckled. "Very honoured! I'd love to work with you again."

"Me too," he said, shaking her hand formally. "I think we make a pretty good team. You?"

"Definitely." Lucie playfully wrinkled her nose at Simon, and grabbed the last potato wedge off her plate. "Simon And DeGrace, Gumshoe Incorporated. Has a pretty good ring to it."

"Sure does." He returned her smile, and said, "Sounds good to me."

"Damned good."

xxx

1966

Hogwart's Castle

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, waiting for his brother to return from Canada.

It had been an interesting few days, since he and Aberforth had learned of the death of Aberforth's great-great-great-grandson, in Canada. Douglas Embree and his partner had died in a car accident. Their two smallest children had also been killed, but the eldest -- a daughter -- had survived, and was coming to Hogsmeade to be raised by her great-great-great-great-grandfather and great-great-great-great-grand-uncle. Albus had barely known Douglas, and Aberforth had known him only slightly better.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," he called.

Silently, Aberforth walked in, with a quiet young girl wearing a baggy sweatsuit. Her light brown curls were held back with a ponytail. As they made their way to Albus's desk, a stream of sunlight illuminated the girl's face, and he was struck by the odd golden-yellow colour of the girl's eyes. Like a cat's. They seemed familiar, somehow, but he could not, for the life of him, think why.

"How was your trip?", he asked his brother, smiling gently at the girl. She smiled back, pale and subdued and shy.

"Good," said Aberforth, in his customary gruff way. "Lucie -- this is your uncle, Albus Dumbledore. Albus -- " Aberforth paused, and gave his brother a significant glance. "This is your great-great-great-great-grand-niece -- Lucie DeGrace."

"Lucie...DeGrace..." Albus whispered, his lips numb with shock. Slowly, he smiled. Behind Lucie, a rare grin creased Aberforth's face. "How very extraordinary," Albus said, staring at the child. "How very, very extraordinary."

"Mystery solved," said Aberforth, in a satisfied sort of way. "Took long enough, eh? Mind if I leave her with you for the afternoon? I'll go get her room ready."

"Certainly, certainly," said Albus, unable to take his eyes off his niece. "I'll give her a tour of the castle. Would you like to see the castle, Lucie?"

She nodded shyly.

"Excellent, excellent. And perhaps afterwards, we can sneak off to the kitchens for some ice cream. Would you like that?"

"Yes, sir," she said, in a small voice, looking around in fascination.

"Good, then. Lucie," Aberforth tapped her on the shoulder. "I'll see you later. Have her back by six, Albus. And not too many sweets, mind."

"Yes, of course," Albus said, a bit impatiently. "I do rather fancy that I know a bit more than you about the care and feeding of children, you know. Only I take care of several hundred on a daily basis. You've only raised three."

"Back by six," Aberforth repeated, in no uncertain terms. "And don't spoil her supper." With a glare at his brother, and a slap on the back for his granddaughter, Aberforth took his leave. That left Lucie alone in the magnificent office with Albus.

"Well, then, shall we begin?" Albus stood, and took her hand. "We'll start with the Owlery, you'll like that..."

"Who is that?" Lucie asked, pointing at a sepia-toned photograph in an ornate, heavy old silver frame.

"Eh? Beg pardon, dear?" Albus turned back to look at her. She had picked the frame up off his desk, and stood there staring avidly at the photo, her back to him. Albus peered over her shoulder, and he went very still. The rush of memories came crashing back to him with the force of a tidal wave, leaving him to wonder and marvel at the swirls and eddies of time and space, coincidence and fate. The grand design of it all. Marvelous. And frightening.

"That," he said, sadly, "Is an old friend of mine. A very dear old friend, Lucie."

"What's his name?", she asked, unable to take her eyes off the photograph. "He looks very nice."

Albus closed his eyes for a moment, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He was very nice. He's dead now. He died many years ago, dear girl. And his name," he said, softly, prising the photo from her small hands and returning it to the table surface, "was Grindelwald." He sighed.

"Come now," he said, after a moment. "Let us set out upon our adventure, my dear. For Grindelwald -- he belongs to yesterday. And you and I -- why, my dear -- we belong to today, and today belongs to us. Shall we, now?" Albus forced a smile, and gently ushered Lucie out of the office.

Perhaps it was because he was so tall, and because she was so small, that Dumbledore did not notice the longing glance that Lucie cast back towards the frame. And while his smiles were bright, and his conversation animated, Dumbledore could not help, from time to time, taking notice of the melancholic feelings that continued to pop into his mind. When he did take notice, he would sigh, lost in the memories.

..._he belongs to yesterday._


	9. Chapter 9

Nine

Dragonwoode Manor

Hogsmeade Woods

July, 1945

Lazerus sat in his study, reading by candlelight. The soft glow traced many paths of silver in his still-thick hair, and threw the lines on his face in sharp relief. It was late, and he was alone with his most precious possession: the handful of notes that he had been able to transcribe from those damnable Egyptian texts. Those texts still haunted his nightmares, just as Nigella Nickerson haunted his dreams.

Albus -- that thorn in his side, who was once a great friend but had become rather a nuisance, in the years that followed "the incident" -- had stolen his precious books, yes, but he had neglected to discover the secret cache which contained the stack of papers containing scribbled secrets and knowledge from those texts. Still, they were incomplete, and the lack of detail -- for he had made the notes casually, at the time -- was frustrating. The secrets of the ancients, lost to him forever! And Nigella...Lazerus knew that if he could retrieve his precious books, then he could find Nigella again.

Nigella... Never had he felt such an instant bond, such a strong and irresistable connection, with any other living being. It was as though they were separated halves of a soul... He would give anything, do anything, to see her again. Though many years had passed, his yearning for her was as strong as ever, his grief at the loss of her as sharp as ever. He felt that he was close, though. It felt as though she were simply on one side of a veil, and he was on the other -- if he reached far enough through, then he could see her, touch her, love her...

There was a small knock at the door.

"Enter," he said, tucking his notes into a drawer on his desk. They would be safe there for the moment. The door opened, and Lazerus smiled at the sight of his dearest old friend.

"Master Lazerus," said Fingal, immaculately-dressed as always. The Goblin looked a little more time-worn, and moved a bit slower, perhaps, but he was still the same dear old Fingal. "Your evening appointment is here."

"Eh?" Grindelwald, non-plussed, paused for a moment, then remembered. "Ah, yes. The Riddle boy. Yes, that's right. Give me a few moments, Fingal, and then show him in."

Fingal nodded, then closed the door. Lazerus could hear the clicking of the Goblin's tiny shoes on the worn old stone steps outside his study. The sound made him smile.

_Riddle, Riddle..._he flipped a few pages in his journal, and found the notes that he had made about the appointment for this evening. "Riddle...", he murmured, trailing his finger down the page. Ah. There it was. Eleven p.m., Tom Riddle. "And what was it that young Mr. Riddle wished to speak to me about, again?" Grindelwald unfolded the small piece of notepaper that he had tucked into the journal to mark the page, and scanned it briefly. Then he remembered. His stomach dropped, and his fingers clenched around the leather-bound journal.

_Horcruxes_.

Dear God...

Outside, concealed in the woods surrounding Dragonwoode Manor, Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore watched Tom Riddle enter the abode of Lazerus Grindelwald.

Albus sighed sadly, regret for what must come. He had hoped that it would never come to this.

Reluctantly, Albus Dumbledore withdrew his wand. Beside him, Aberforth did the same.

_...and so it begins..._


End file.
